


another ache on my scars (settling on my heart)

by louistomlinsons



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louistomlinsons/pseuds/louistomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>niall is a modern day superman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another ache on my scars (settling on my heart)

~ _i’ve got something that might fit you, and that’s my heart_ ~

“do you always spend your time smoking outside of bars?”

it starts with one simple question, so sarcastic and condescending, almost hateful. it starts with a question and continues with a kiss and it never ends. 

~

“do you always smoke outside of bars?” the words slowly dance their way to zayn, moving fluidly and almost falling out of his reach. he wants to turn and see the speaker, to match a face to the beautiful voice. but he can’t bring himself to, and instead only crosses his legs at the ankles and leans his head back against the once cool brick wall, blowing a puff of smoke into the windy night air. the smoke is gone in an instant, and so is zayn’s urge to catch a glimpse of his intruder.

“or do you sometimes make it inside?” the stranger speaks again, and zayn wants so bad to punch him, to pound his fists into the stranger’s body mercilessly until all his hate has been drained from his body and he is able to feel compassion again. the stranger says something else, but zayn isn’t listening, too caught in listening to the blood run noisily through his veins, something he’s long since learned only he can hear, and concentrating on the beat of his heart, so fast and pounding so hard he wonders how it isn’t visible. how can no one see his heart trying to break free, to end all the pain and misery? it’s not that difficult to find the answer; no one has ever cared enough to concentrate on him, to see him fall to pieces from the inside out. his thoughts are eating him alive and all anyone can see is the drugs.

“go away.” it’s been so long since zayn’s last used his voice that he had been worried he wouldn’t be able to speak. and that’s almost true, because his voice cracks and breaks and drops down to almost below a whisper. it’s so broken from lack of use and the drugs, so ruined that his long dreamed of singing career is so far out of reach, it’s farther away than the moon. he once had so much potential, but it’s gone now, because he wrecked his voice and lost his home, and can no longer control anything. 

if he could control anything in his life, he would ask to control his hands again. they shake all the time, that even the simple act of raising a cigarette to his lips takes effort; it wastes energy he’s losing quickly. he just wishes he could steady his fingers enough to play guitar. then maybe he could be in a band, and people wouldn’t think so low of him. maybe they’d even go so far as to admire him. but he can’t control anything. his life is spinning out of control, spiraling into a dark hole with no end in sight. the darkness is always lingering close to him, waiting for the right moment to snatch him away, and he’s not sure he’ll have the energy and strength to fight it off when it finally comes for him.

“that’s not very nice,” the stranger says again, and it’s like nails running down a chalkboard, so displeasing to the ears. except. it’s not. the voice is pleasant, light and airy and full of unreleased laughter and happiness. “why don’t you want to talk to me? i’ve been told i’m very helpful.” he just keeps speaking and each word is a punch in the gut to zayn, who hunches over, wishing for the first time in his life to be invisible again. if this is what happens when people actually notice him, he doesn’t want to be a part of it.

“you’re superman, i’m sure,” zayn mumbles, throat aching and body shivering with the effort to not turn around and wrap his hands around the intruder’s throat and squeeze, until he can no longer speak such happy words, until he can no longer speak at all. 

“i’ve saved a lot of people,” the stranger agrees with zayn’s sarcastic comment. “maybe that should be my new nickname.” zayn growls, all animal like, and it makes his throat hurt, so raw and broken. the stranger seems to take zayn’s predatory noise as a signal for him to keep talking, even as the wind changes direction and smoke is blowing into his face and he’s spluttering choked coughs. “are you going to talk to me?”

“i told you to go away.” zayn’s cigarette has come to an end and with it, his time with the stranger must come to an end. he turns and almost stumbles, the alcohol he consumed earlier must have finally kicked in, though zayn doesn’t need the ‘liquid courage’ for what he’s about to do next. but one look at the man, the boy, who’s been bothering him and zayn wobbles unsteadily and throws up onto his own shoes, then promptly passes out. 

~

waking up in an unfamiliar bed is not an unfamiliar feeling for zayn. waking up in an unfamiliar bed with all of his clothes still on his body is an unfamiliar feeling for him, though. even at his own home, on the nights where he’s actually alone, zayn never wears clothes (mainly because his air conditioning is broken, but). so it’s only his body’s natural reaction to freak out, sitting up and kicking the sheets off himself wildly. he doesn’t remember anything about the night before, as is the case most mornings, and he searches frantically for his shoes, his only pair of shoes. eventually he gives up and decides he’ll have to go home barefoot and somehow save enough money to buy a new pair. his heart sinks in his chest as he thinks of how he couldn’t even afford to pay his rent, which inevitably led to how he got here. he thinks of himself as royally screwed, and even more so when he hears cheerful whistling coming from outside of the bedroom he’s standing in the center of.

silently cursing both to himself and at himself, he opens the door and finds himself in a narrow hallway, wooden doors lining either side. figuring the kitchen sits at the end of the hall, he opens the door just wide enough to slip out and noiselessly shuts it behind him. the floor groans as he heavily walks on it, not making an effort to stay quiet. he hurts all over, but that’s probably because he’s gone so long without necessities such as food and sleep, last night being the first time he’s rested in most likely days. 

he’s right. the kitchen is the end of the hall, a giant open space with a window-wall and a yellow kitchen table. the cabinets are red and the stove is blue and the refrigerator is green. zayn feels like he’s being blinded by colors and how they all clash together, along with all the photographs and paintings hanging from the wall. 

“my friends tell me that my apartment matches my personality,” says a voice from zayn’s immediate right. a stranger stands in a doorway, most likely leading to a pantry, his blonde hair peaking out, and his shirtless, muscled back showing. it’s all zayn can focus on until the stranger straightens up and he remembers the previous night’s adventures. he blushes in shame and wishes he could shoot himself in the head; splatter the windows with his red blood. he thinks it might work well with the noisy kitchen look.

“i don’t know you well enough to say if that’s true or not,” zayn mumbles quietly. his throat hurts from speaking and smoking so much the night before. 

“i cleaned up your vomit. i feel as though i know you pretty damn well,” the strangers proclaims indignantly. “but, if you suggest we get to know each other in a slightly better way, then i am not protesting.”

zayn sighs impatiently, “i have to go.”

“where to?” the stranger asks, like he knows something zayn doesn’t. he doesn’t like that, being out of the loop. while it’s something small to get upset over, zayn has let all his anger for the past few days build up and he has to force it down, from where it burns in his chest and threatens to come up into his throat and spew ugliness everywhere. zayn idly thinks that it might go well with the kitchen, as well as the blood he was thinking of shedding. “you don’t have a phone or id on you. i’m thinking you spent all the money you own on drugs last night, some cigarettes. you were ruined when i found you.”

“i can crash with a buddy,” zayn whispers, the mention of cigarettes giving him a craving. but on a quick pat of his pockets, he finds them empty and realizes that this stranger standing in front of him must have taken them. once again, his anger must be forced down. 

“i’m a buddy, and you’ll be crashing with me.” this is the most forceful the stranger has sounded since the pair met. he stares zayn down with a stern glare and his lips press together in a thin, straight line. “case closed. you need serious help, and i can get that for you.”

“i’m not going to a therapist,” zayn grumbles between clenched teeth. “i’ll let you try and help me, but i refuse to visit a therapist. they don’t help, trust me.”

the stranger sighs heavily, and leans on the counter, this section a blushing pink color. “fine. you don’t have to go to a therapist. but i’d still like you to stay here with me. something tells me that you need a friend.”

“i don’t even know your name.”

“my names niall,” the stranger, niall apparently, says. 

“we’re practically married now,” zayn says sarcastically, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defiantly. “but i’m zayn, and i’m hungry so feed me.”

“demanding,” niall jokes, going back to his glowing self. “i was about to make pancakes and bacon. you want that or something else? i’m flexible.”

“thanks for telling me that, might need it for future reference,” zayn says with a teasing wink. he smiles half-heartedly before letting his face drop back into the same stoical expression as before.

niall smiles back and goes to work on making the breakfast. zayn watches contently from the doorway, listening to niall hum as he flips pancakes over. zayn decides he feels safe enough for the time being. 

“do you like cuddles?” niall asks, interrupting the bubble of silence they had found themselves in. “because i’m a cuddler and if you don’t like that, one of us is going to have to sleep on the couch. and while it shouldn’t be me because i pay the rent, it’ll probably end up being me because i don’t think i’ll be able to resist your beautiful face.”

“i don’t mind cuddles,” zayn admits honestly. he hasn’t had a cuddle since he left home, so many years ago. “and you think my face is beautiful?” he chuckles at how red niall’s pale face goes, darkening and contrasting with the rest of his light skin and the blue of his eyes. “nothing to be embarrassed about, babe, girls drop their panties for me when i walk by, and boys willies grow hard. really, no need to be ashamed.”

niall’s face grows a shade darker, if possible. “well. um. if i kiss you will you shut up?”

“try me,” zayn says with a smirk, uncrossing his arms and opening them wide, an invitation. and it should be weird, playing around and flirting with this almost stranger, but it’s natural and zayn feels almost happy. 

niall sets down the spatula with a heavy sigh and paces over to zayn, placing his hands awkwardly on zayn’s shoulders. “you have to promise to shut up, though. promise?” he looks like a hopeful kid, asking for a new toy or candy from the check out line at the store. 

“promise,” zayn lies, before ducking his head and wrapping his arms tightly around niall’s waist. when their lips meet, niall makes a weird squawking noise and opens his mouth in surprise, and zayn takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. niall finally recovers and kisses zayn back fervently, moving his hands up to tangle them in zayn’s hair before pulling away, breathing heavily. 

“i’m sorry,” niall apologizes quickly, rapidly stepping away from zayn. “i shouldn’t have done that. you probably hate me. i’m sorry.”

at first, zayn had been hurt but now he only smiles fondly at the blonde. “come back and kiss me, you asshole.” and once again, zayn feels himself falling into the natural pattern of friendship with the promise of something more, a feeling he hasn’t felt since before he left home.

niall smiles warmly and steps back into zayn’s arms, burrowing his head into the raven haired lad’s cloth covered chest. he sighs contently, closing his eyes and releasing a pleased humming sound. “nope. i’m just going to take a nap in your arms.”

“the pancakes are going to burn,” zayn says, the bearer of bad news. “so unless you want to eat burnt pancake, which are disgusting always no exceptions, get out of my fucking arms and finish making those fluffy deliciousness.”

“tough love,” niall grumbles, backing away from zayn and going back over to the pancakes. he flips them over one last time before deeming them ready and flipping them onto a plate. once they’re all on the plate, he twirls around to zayn, careful not to drop them, and grins mischievously. he beckons zayn to the table with one hand and turns on his heel and walks toward the yellow table, swaying his hips as he goes.

with an easy roll of his eyes, zayn follows and sits himself at the table. half of the table top is purple polka dots and the other half is light blue diagonal stripes. the pancakes’ delicious smell wafts to his nose and his stomach growls with anticipation. 

“if these aren’t the best pancakes i’ve ever tasted, i’m just going to walk out this door,” he teases, poking his tongue out slightly between his lips. he likes how natural it is to just joke around with a person he just met. 

“do i have to live up to high expectations?” niall asks, completely serious and worried that zayn is actually going to leave. 

“no,” zayn answers, taking a bite of the pancake and almost moaning in pleasure. it tastes so good, especially after he hasn’t eaten in what seems like years. after that one bite, he can’t get enough, shoveling in food at a rate that it seems he can’t be tasting it. niall only stares in half wonder and half amusement.

“is that…good?” niall asks curiously. 

“yes!” zayn exclaims. “also, i haven’t eaten in forever and i’m really hungry. i might get sick later but i can’t bring myself to care at this exact moment in time?”

niall throws his head back and laughs loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls and back into their ears. zayn has learned that niall laughs a lot, and he decides that it is a very good thing that he has finally met such a happy person.

“i’ll hold your hair back if you puke,” niall says, all ease and zayn finds himself relaxing, feeling more at home with this virtual stranger and his quirky home. “and i won’t let anyone see your perfect face while you’re ill.”

“a true friend,” zayn jokes naturally, the words slipping out before he has a chance to stop them. 

“just a few minutes ago, you were kissing me senseless and now we’re just friends?” niall pretends to be affronted. “make up your damn mind!”

zayn can’t help the giggle that escapes his lips, couldn’t hold back if he tried. niall’s eyes shine when he hears the sound, brightening and in turn, seeming to light up the entire room. “i’m sorry. we can be more than friends if you’d like!”

niall pretends to think it over, stroking his chin exaggeratedly. “well. i suppose we can be best friends.”

zayn throws his head back and laughs, a real laugh with a snort and happy tears in his eyes. he hasn’t felt like this since he was a little boy, and the last time he remembers feeling like is christmas when he was nine. that was the last time his family felt whole and complete, before his mother became an addict and his father got another woman pregnant.

niall turns serious again, a look similar to earlier hen he had almost appeared angry. “can i ask you kind of a personal question?”

zayn shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. “you can ask it, but there’s no guarantee i’ll answer it.”

niall clears his throat nervously. “well, i wondered what’s your story? why do you do what you do? you don’t have to answer, you don’t know me so there’s no obligation. i’m just a little curious.”

“i think i’ll tell you,” zayn says, surprising the both of them. “i think not really knowing you helps.” he takes a moment to pause and then begins to speak, “i used to be happy. my family was good, we were all together, i had two sisters who i loved very much and my parents were together and there were no complications. things started to change right after christmas when i was nine, and right before my tenth birthday.”

he pauses to take a deep, shaking breath. niall grabs his hand and holds it over the table, a silent telling of support. a way of saying “go on,” without speaking. 

“my mom came home one night, with some friends and they were…ruined. turned out, she had been doing drugs for a few months, and none of us had realized. or maybe, my dad had but my sisters and i were too young to even realize that our life was drastically about to change. my parents divorced quickly and i was ten and i had these older friends, you know? probably about fifteen, or that’s how old they seemed to me. they never officially told me their ages. but when you’re only ten, everyone seems ancient.”

zayn has to stop again, can feel the heat and the prickling of his eyes, can feel his chin wobble. he takes another shuddering breath, shallow, and calms himself down enough to keep going. 

“they always were drunk or high, and they made it look…cool. it didn’t ruin their lives, so i didn’t think it could ruin mine. of course, i didn’t start that up at ten, no. i waited a few years. but around that time, when i was really getting into this friendship with older people, my dad made an announcement. he had been cheating on my mom, who was now long out of the picture, and they were having a baby girl together. i would have another sister.”

niall made a noise of sympathy, squeezing zayn’s hand tighter, in a sign of reassurance. 

“of course, i loved her. i tried so hard to hate her, but i couldn’t. then her mom found some rich bastard in the north and left her with us and my dad was heartbroken and killed himself. i now had three sisters and myself to take care of. we were put into foster care, but i refused to let us get split up. of course, no one wants four children, messed up, scrawny, sick looking children. better yet, no one wanted me. people wanted my sisters, but refused to take me. so i ran away.”

niall is crying now, because he can honestly feel zayn’s pain. can feel it with every sharp intake of breath, can feel it when he sees the anguish in zayn’s eyes. his entire body aches with the need to comfort the boy.

“i found some of my friends, the older ones, and they got me hooked. i was popping pills like no tomorrow. i finally slowed down, just enough to keep myself somewhat alive, because what was going to happen if i overdosed? i was gonna die. i became a shell of a person, and those years of my life are blank and i cannot remember any of them. finally, my so called friends left me, kicked me on the streets. last night. so. here i am.”

niall lets one last tear fall, wiping it away quickly and taking a deep, calming breath. “you would still be on the streets if i hadn’t found you.”

“yeah.” zayn nods, his hair flopping onto his forehead. 

“do you want more food?”

“no, thank you.”

it’s not awkward. they’re just better in silence. zayn has talked enough. niall has listened enough. silence is a gift. 

~

the next morning is much the same, except there’s no repeat of zayn telling his life story. they eat breakfast in silence, only speaking when necessary because they don’t need words to convey how grateful they are that they found each other. 

it’s amazing zayn thinks, that all it took was twenty four hours, a kiss, and a clashing kitchen to change his entire attitude. 

it’s amazing, niall thinks, that all it took was twenty four hours, a hand-holding, and a life changing story to make him dependent on another person. 

 

~

zayn officially moves in, getting a job, quitting the drugs, and buying his own belongings to fill the empty spaces in niall’s closet. they fit so seamlessly together, their routines weaving together effortlessly. 

they dance around in the kitchen while making breakfast, sing cheesy lyrics at the top of their lungs while they drive in the car, and hold hands across the kitchen table every morning. they kiss each other’s noses and make adoring faces, and send ‘i love you’ texts.

niall introduces zayn to his friends as ‘the homeless guy who put the moves on me in my kitchen,’ and then eventually changes it to ‘the homeless guy i fell in love with,’ to finally ‘my boyfriend, zayn.’

the kitchen is still bright, but it doesn’t seem to clash any more. it seems perfect, the colors and appliances and furniture now all belongs together. 

and all it took was a homeless drug addict, a stranger willing to lend a helping hand, twenty four hours, a kiss, and a life changing story.


End file.
